


turn my bones

by turningoverwill



Series: tumblr drabbles, ficlets and other nonsense [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Running Away, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turningoverwill/pseuds/turningoverwill
Summary: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get on the train before.”Her shoulders tense as her eyes snap open, and she sees a familiar face sat across from her, his smile gentle, his demeanour tentative. She’s taken aback slightly, had not heard him shuffle into the seat opposite; her earbuds still in their case in her purse. His earphones are hanging down around his neck.“I haven’t actually got on the train before.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: tumblr drabbles, ficlets and other nonsense [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911094
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	turn my bones

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this was another drabble that I originally posted on tumblr. I've amended a few things, and polished it up. 
> 
> (Title taken from Nikita Gill's The Bones of Trauma)

She pulls at the holdall on her right shoulder; it feels awkward as it knocks against the small handbag slung across her body. She clutches tighter at the ticket in her hand. She doesn’t always get this far, but he had been particularly vicious last night, and Daenerys can feel the bruise on her ribs becoming ever more tender. She’s not sure anyone’s listening, but she mutters a small prayer of thanks that she was able to hide some money away, and that Doreah was able to slip her a forged passport. She knows it’s unlikely she will ever see her friend again.

She finds herself looking around, for something, anything to pull her focus and calm her racing heart. She glances around for the one thing sure to be a welcome intrusion to her thoughts, but the dark mop of hair is nowhere to be found. 

She sees him sometimes in the mornings that she comes, often with a coffee cup, always with headphones. The black wires are usually camouflaged by his dark curls until they reach the ends of his hair, and then they disappear into his jacket pocket. She recalls the last time she saw him; it was an especially warm spring day two weeks ago. He had been without a jacket, and the cord had disappeared into the pocket of a pair of rather well fitted jeans. She remembers there had been a fading bruise around his eye, and that he had tried to hide it by covering it with his hair. She wonders if he notices her own bruises, or if two weeks ago her split lip. Maybe he’s noticed the dark circles under her eyes that mirror his own. She wonders if his own feel bone deep, forever etched into the skin. 

She often finds herself wondering what he is listening to, whether it’s music or a podcast, an audio book perhaps, or even nothing at all. She sometimes wears headphones with nothing playing, a sign to others that she does not wish to be disturbed without actually having to say so. It doesn’t always work, but Daenerys does it anyway. She cannot see him this particular morning, and Daenerys finds herself missing him; a harmless familiar distraction.

She feels half in a daze; is she really doing this? Can she really do this? Is she really leaving Viserys to his destructive self? She tries to swallow the knot in her throat, the guilt settling in her stomach. She reminds herself of all the broken promises of change, the apologies shattered against her body. She has to do this;  _ needs to do this _ . She rubs the top of her mother’s ring with her thumb and takes strength from it, thankful she had found where he had hidden it last night.

He hadn’t always been like this. He had been loving and caring to a point, especially when they were younger. She remembers how it was before their mother died, and knows that those memories are one of the reasons she has stayed so long. There were times after their mother had passed where he had been a true comfort to her... But now… all that was left was self loathing wrapped in a cruel shell, and Daenerys knows she cannot take being his punching bag any more. 

She sees the train approach, and as everyone on the platform shuffles forward, she takes a moment for a deep breath and joins them. She can do this, and she will. It is a little after the rush hour crush, so it is not as busy as it might have been, but Daenerys still struggles to immediately spot a seat. She wanders up the aisle before she spots four empty seats at a table in the middle of the carriage, and places her bag on one of the seats before shuffling in, sitting next to the window. As the train pulls away, she closes her eyes and breathes out the relief; stress that she had been holding since she left the house finally lifts.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get on the train before.” Her shoulders tense as her eyes snap open, and she sees a familiar face sat across from her, his smile gentle, his demeanour tentative. She’s taken aback slightly, had not heard him shuffle into the seat opposite; her earbuds still in their case in her purse. His earphones are hanging down around his neck.

She opens her mouth to reply, before realising she needs to clear her throat and that these will be her first words to anyone today. “I haven’t actually got on the train before.” He nods, and there is something about his presence that Daenerys takes comfort in. 

“Where are you going?”

She stiffens at his question. What if he’s one of the many friends that Viserys has claimed will bring her back to him if she tries to leave? Or maybe one of the Khal’s? Vis had not stopped talking about how powerful he was, and why it was so important that he like her. She searches his face, and finds herself focusing on the colour of his eyes. Like rain clouds in a storm, and not quite like anything she’s seen. She can imagine how easily someone could lose themselves in them.

At her hesitation, he starts to dismiss his query, but she shrugs in response and replies “I don’t know”. There’s a small quirk to his eyebrow at her response before his eyes glance down and widen slightly, and Dany drops her gaze as she realises what he has seen on her arm. She tugs on her sleeve, but it is too late, he has already seen it. The fading yellow around her wrist only visible in certain light, but it was still there, the pallor of her skin different. She swallows, as her eyes flitter to his before she fixes her gaze to the table. 

“I’m running away actually.” Her head snaps up, and she sees the earnestness in his eyes. That’s when Daenerys notices it. There’s a duffel bag in the seat beside him, and when she looks back at his face, he’s fiddling with his hair. She takes a moment to study his face, she’s never been this close to him before, and she takes in the litany of scars. Her eyes widen at what looks to be a still healing cut, hooking round from above his right eye round onto his cheek. It wasn’t just a fading black eye he was trying to conceal.

“Me too.” She’s not sure what has possessed her to tell him, a stranger, but Daenerys finds a slither of comfort warming her spine as she does so. 

“Yeah?” She only nods her head in reply, before ducking her head to avoid his pewter gaze. They lapse into a quiet, and Daenerys takes the opportunity to look out the window as the train finally looks to be leaving the city behind. 

“You know, it’s not the first time I’ve tried to leave?” It’s her turn to quirk her brow at his admission, and he shrugs. “It gets lonely. Don’t get me wrong, it sucks here, but there are still people here, you know?” And Daenerys does,  _ she does _ . Despite the loneliness, she still finds comfort in knowing Vis is still there, and that he’s family, and she hates it. Hates it because it’s why she stayed so long, why she listened to the voice in her head that reminded her about how having him was better than having no family at all. About how if she left him, she would be all alone, and that it would be somehow worse than staying. She’s had to work to ignore the voices that tell her his anger is the price she pays for her thoughts of leaving, but such notions are not so easily silenced completely. 

A weighted quiet settles over them before he breaks it. “I bought a ticket for Dorne. Might stick this time.” She meets his eyes, and can see he’s not sure why he told her. He seems nervous; he’s just as unsure as she is. She looks down at her own ticket, half crumpled on the table, reading the destination of Planky Town as though it might have changed since she bought it. 

She nudges her ticket towards him, inviting him to look. His smile is timid, and Daenerys finds herself reassured. “Have you ever been to Essos?” She’s not sure what possesses her to ask the question, knows that she should be keeping her plans close to her chest, unsure of who exactly Viserys might have leverage on to make them talk. But when she looks up into his eyes, she finds herself thinking that maybe he understands. 

“No I haven’t. Never been to Dorne before either. Always thought I’d melt if I went too far south.”

Daenerys chuffs, her lips curving before she can even think about it. “Melt?”

“My last name is Snow.” She feels the skin of her bottom lip crack slightly at the force of the smile that takes over her face; the joke lame by most standards but still somehow lessening the ever present tension in her spine. “Maybe I’ll see how I fare in Braavos. Or even Pentos. Pictures of beaches there look beautiful.”

Daenerys nods slightly, before deciding how to reply. “I spent some time in Braavos as a child. I’ve always thought it would be nice to go back one day.”  _ Hopefully to a house with a red door and a lemon tree. _

He allows a small smile, an understanding silence overcoming them both. A long moment passes, and then he reaches into his jacket pocket and retrieves a Direwolf bar. He rips the wrapper, before snapping the bar in half. He takes a piece before sliding the rest of the bar on the table towards her. His knuckles are bruised and raw. “They’re my sister’s favourite.”

Daenerys feels her body stiffen for a moment, before she relaxes. She hesitates for a second before she reaches out, and takes the chocolate. She hadn’t been able to eat anything before she left; the guilt and nerves churning in her stomach, making it impossible for her to even contemplate food. She can feel the adrenaline leaving her body, and the aching tiredness taking over her bones is a familiar friend. “Thank you.” She feels ridiculous as she senses pressure pricking behind her eyes, and she closes them. 

“I’m Jon, by the way.” She blinks, and they both ignore the tear that escapes. He reaches his hand across the table, and Daenerys feels a flutter in her stomach that she knows isn’t hunger.

She swallows, and stiffens slightly, hesitating before she relaxes and reaches her own hand out and places it into his open palm. He squeezes softly, and Dany finds a comforting warmth at the gesture, spreading from their joined hands to the rest of her body. 

“Nice to meet you Jon. I’m Daenerys.” 

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, this is the start of Dany's search of the house with the red door and a lemon tree, and Jon (who may or may not be escaping a fight club) tags along for the ride. But I'm not going to argue with your own head canons! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think! ♥


End file.
